Читать книгу Perchance - Michael Kurland - Страница 4

PROLOGUE

The Princess of the Golden Orb paused at the edge of the clearing. Panting for breath, she crouched under the fallen statue of an antique hero and peered fearfully up at the pink-streaked yellow sky. Sharp-eyed calla birds circled somewhere above; she sensed the malignant touch of their aura. Behind her croaked the six-legged scouts of the Nimber Horde as they crashed through the forest following her scent. They drew ever nearer.

She had one slim chance. Before her in the clearing stood the long-unused temple consecrated to Loth, God of Visions, God of Vengeance, God of Last Resorts. Once carefully tended by dozens of acolytes as an act of holy devotion, the temple, the clearing, and all that had been the work of humans in and about it were long fallen into disuse and decay. She must cross the overgrown clearing to the ancient alabaster temple and gain access through the long-unused priestess door. If she could remember the words of power. If the door had not been permanently frozen shut by the dead hand of time. And she must act before she was attacked from either above or behind by the minions of those who would displace the few remaining humans from all that had been theirs.

Long moments passed.

Despite the danger, despite the waves of fear that coursed through her body, leaving her weak and nauseated, she felt a curious sense of detachment from the awful scene. It was as though part of her were somewhere else, watching with interest as she performed this intricate ballet of fear and death.

She crawled cautiously around the massive bronze thighs of the fallen god and then, gathering what reremained of her flimsy skirts about her, raced toward the temple.

From above came the high-pitched shreee of a calla bird, and then another, and a third, as they prepared to dive. She looked behind her, and saw the first of the six-legged Nimber scouts reach the clearing. There was no turning back. She ran on.

The flapping of great leather wings sounded overhead, drawing closer. Talons raked across her back. She screamed.

Still screaming, she woke.